Amore
Valentine’s Day. The day where much love is made, in every sense of the phrase, a few unfortunate hearts are broken and tonnes of dead or dying flora are presented into the eager hands of blushing females.
I’m sure many will remember their first tentative forays into this most daunting of territories. Andy, for example, has never been allowed to forget the time he presented a bouquet to a certain member of the opposite sex and ended up redder than the roses. Chye, good grief, presented flowers to what many have failed to identify as a girl. I, myself, have had irrational thoughts about serenading women with the Stone Temple Pilots on this hormone-filled day. Thank goodness that never came to pass.
Still, despite the follies of our youth, we remain undaunted. Why? Because while failure merely ends in us getting laughed at for life, success sometimes leads to a meaningful relationship which, if not managed carefully, can lead to children in November. But that’s not my point. Hey! Go clean out your brain. The point is the meaningful relationship! Such as the one I have with Pat (no, it isn’t gonna get soppy and no, we don’t have any bloody November babies/babies in general!).
So while I may have a private snigger at all those poor souls out there investing in teddy bears and roses and chocolates and writing effusive poems promising the sun and the moon and an elephant’s toe to their respective sweethearts, the fact remains that it is all for a worthy cause. And, at the end of the day, by showing their love (or lust) so unreservedly, they perhaps deserve the last laugh. Then again, I did piggyback Pat round the hall just now.
On a more redeeming note though, at least I didn’t sing That’s Amore.
Witness…
When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie
That's amore
When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine
That's amore
Bells will ring ting-a-ling-a-ling, ting-a-ling-a-ling
And you'll sing "Vita bella"
Hearts will play tippy-tippy-tay, tippy-tippy-tay
Like a gay tarantella
And that's only the first stanza.
Alright. Bed.
I’m sure many will remember their first tentative forays into this most daunting of territories. Andy, for example, has never been allowed to forget the time he presented a bouquet to a certain member of the opposite sex and ended up redder than the roses. Chye, good grief, presented flowers to what many have failed to identify as a girl. I, myself, have had irrational thoughts about serenading women with the Stone Temple Pilots on this hormone-filled day. Thank goodness that never came to pass.
Still, despite the follies of our youth, we remain undaunted. Why? Because while failure merely ends in us getting laughed at for life, success sometimes leads to a meaningful relationship which, if not managed carefully, can lead to children in November. But that’s not my point. Hey! Go clean out your brain. The point is the meaningful relationship! Such as the one I have with Pat (no, it isn’t gonna get soppy and no, we don’t have any bloody November babies/babies in general!).
So while I may have a private snigger at all those poor souls out there investing in teddy bears and roses and chocolates and writing effusive poems promising the sun and the moon and an elephant’s toe to their respective sweethearts, the fact remains that it is all for a worthy cause. And, at the end of the day, by showing their love (or lust) so unreservedly, they perhaps deserve the last laugh. Then again, I did piggyback Pat round the hall just now.
On a more redeeming note though, at least I didn’t sing That’s Amore.
Witness…
When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie
That's amore
When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine
That's amore
Bells will ring ting-a-ling-a-ling, ting-a-ling-a-ling
And you'll sing "Vita bella"
Hearts will play tippy-tippy-tay, tippy-tippy-tay
Like a gay tarantella
And that's only the first stanza.
Alright. Bed.
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